


SladeRobin Week 2020

by uploadsforjack



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Court of Owls, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson-centric, Good Slade Wilson, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, M/M, Meet the Family, Meeting the Parents, Pirates, Romantic Soulmates, Sirens, Slade Wilson's A+ Parenting, SladeRobin Week, Soulmates, Top Slade Wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27219310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uploadsforjack/pseuds/uploadsforjack
Summary: There are my entries for SladeRobin Week 2020! Please keep in mind I only write Sladick/Dickstroke.Day 1- Reluctant Soulmates.Day 2- MerfolkDay 3 - Bounty on RobinDay 4- SkipDay 5 - “What do you want from me?”Day 6 - SkipDay 7- Meeting the FamilyDay 8- Skip
Relationships: Adeline Kane Wilson/Slade Wilson, Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, Jason Todd/Rose Wilson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 105
Collections: SladeRobin Week 2020





	1. Day 1- Reluctant Soulmates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 1- Reluctant Soulmates  
> This is based off the AU where the soulmate makes certain choices for you starting at the age of 18 and also gets one of your features when you’re officially “ready” to meet them. And vice-versa.

Slade Wilson hated other people making decisions for him. So not having a soulmate to choose his clothes or his daily routine was perfect. His eighteenth birthday came and went and no decisions were made. And similarly, he was not asked for a choice either. None of his features altered at all; absolutely nothing changed. That was fine by him. Having a soulmate would tie him down. Keep him from fulfilling his contracts.

Even after marrying Adeline Kane, he understood when she did strange things on behalf of her soulmate. She’d brush off a bright colored outfit or an out-of-character activity; always trying to cover the fact that Slade wasn’t who the universe intended for her. And he was fine with it. He never lied about it— though upon inspection, perhaps he should’ve— and never inquired further either. Again, maybe he should’ve. Would’ve saved him a lot of shit to shovel.

He watched her between his contracts. Eagerly waiting to see when one of her features might change. The moment he notices something different about her is the moment he would leave, he told himself over and over. Just wait on that. That’s what the universe says anyways, right? Gaining a different feature means she’d be ready to meet whoever her soulmate really is. But years passed. Adeline Kane stubbornly kept her beautiful dark hair and dark eyes. Nothing changed. 

Grant was born. And only a year or so after that, Slade is given his first choice to make.

DECIDE.

[ CRY. ] [ SLEEP. ]

The two boxes pop up right in front of him. Thank god he’s home and *not* out on a mission when the bold letters and two identical boxes make their appearance. He stares, dumbfounded. At twenty-six years old, Slade’s soulmate has finally entered this world. Fuck. This is an awful, shitty complication Deathstroke the Terminator does not need. Let alone Slade Wilson, husband and father.

Grant stirs in his arms. He’s brought out of this predicament for just a moment. The father returns his sleeping child to his crib, the boxes following him around like a bad dream.

DECIDE.

[ CRY. ] [ SLEEP. ]

Slade returns his attention to the boxes. It’s a quiet night in the Wilson house. Might as well be for this poor kid’s parents, too.

YOU CHOSE [ SLEEP. ]

He crawls back into bed with Addie. The military unfortunately taught her to be a light sleeper. No matter how quietly he steps through their bedroom, she always wakes up.

“Something’s troubling you.”

“Yeah,” he returns. 

“You had to make your first choice, didn’t you?” She asks. There’s no judgment, no shock or horror behind it. He’s always loved that about her. Get the facts first and then judge.

A hum is his only response. His tranquil, icy eyes stare up at the ceiling.

His wife rolls over. She props herself up on her elbow and extends a hand. “I’ll make you a promise, Wilson.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“When either you and I get their features, we’ll call it quits—“

“— what if I don’t want that?”

“Slade,” her lips curl into a sleepy smile, “I think we both owe it to ourselves to be with our soulmates.”

“Mm. Continue.”

“Until then, we continue on as we have. Be the happy family we are. And if we never change, there’s no harm in it. If we do, then we’ll both be better off in the end.”

He can’t argue with that. Slade takes her hand, shaking it and adorning a kiss to her knuckles. “Deal. One happy family, it is.”

She yawns, rising from her place beside him. “Good. Glad that’s cleared up. Seems like my soulmate wants me to get a midnight snack. I’ll be back.”

Joey is born two years after Grant. His soulmate is a toddler, and oh does it show. Deathstroke is often in the middle of a mission when those two damned boxes steal his concentration.

DECIDE.

[ READ ROBIN HOOD. ] [ PLAY BOARD GAMES. ]

More often than not, Wintergreen can hear his friend’s disgruntled groans whenever he’s forced to make the choices invisible to anyone else.

“At least he’s not making choices for *you*, yet.”

Slade grunts, removing his katana from some muscle’s torso. “Yet. I’ve got about sixteen years left. How do you know it’s a *he*?”

“Just a guess.” His smirk is nearly audible through the walkie-talkie. “And hey, at least after you meet him, the questions stop.”

YOU HAVE CHOSEN [ READ ROBIN HOOD. ]

“If we ever meet. I made my choice. Stay focused, Wintergreen.”

“Right, right. How silly of me? Who would want to meet their soulmate? What was it this time?” 

“Didn’t I tell you to stay focused?” He hisses, but obliges anyways. “Read Robin Hood or play a board game.” 

Laughter reverberates through Deathstroke’s mask. “Maybe this soulmate is exactly what you need: someone fun.” 

From the window of Slade’s limited knowledge, he watches this soulmate grow and thrive over the years. Decisions change depending on the kid’s age. He starts to walk, starts to develop interests, make friends. And of course, Slade makes him work as hard as he plays. The kid’s still young, but lives some kind of unorthodox life. From the time he’s six, the mercenary’s given more *complex* choices. 

DECIDE. 

[ TRAIN WITH MOTHER. ] [ TRAIN WITH FATHER. ]

Now this? This is more his style. At least the kid is doing something now. Training, no less. Training what, though? He’s curious, but not curious enough to waste anymore time on it. He spares a glance back towards Addie. 

YOU HAVE CHOSEN [ TRAIN WITH MOTHER. ] 

Slade deduces the kid lives some kind of physical life, judging by how frequently he moves, and how often he has to decide whether or not to tell his parents about the rawness of his palms.

This continues until the kid is ten years old. Then, he’s given a very different choice to make. 

DECIDE. 

[ SCREAM. ] [ STAY SILENT. ] 

It’s urgently written in red, bold letters. Shit. Slade paces in his living room. Screaming might alert whoever could be after them— if anyone’s after them at all. On the other hand, it might be their only chance of escape. Can he risk that? Risk the life of his soulmate— no, this ten year old kid? 

YOU HAVE CHOSEN [ STAY SILENT. ]

There are no more choices to make that night. 

— 

Dick Grayson is used to other people deciding things for him. Well, one person at least. The single box highlighting his soulmate’s preferred action comes up frequently, like an old friend. He learns to find comfort in their frequent appearances.

“What is it today, my little Robin?” 

YOUR SOULMATE HAS CHOSEN [ READ ROBIN HOOD. ]

“I’ll take the book, momma.” 

There’s speculation around the circus as to how little Dick was when all this started. Could it have possibly begun from the moment he was born? How much older is this soulmate of his? 

That in itself is enough to make an extra show about young Dickie alone. 

But he didn’t mind. What made him a freak to most everyone else was just normal to the kid. His soulmate kept him active, kept him focused on the Flying Grayson’s act. In fact, at the age of six, he’s finally officially a part of the show. 

He has his soulmate to thank for that. And oh, how he will whenever fate allows it. In truth, Dick’s excited to have a soulmate. Especially one who will know Dick like the back of his hand when it finally is they meet. He checks his features *every* morning in every new town and country. 

Is today the day they meet?

Even though he knows he has many years to wait, maybe fate will make an exception. 

It’s fair to say that even before they met, Dick has already fallen in love— if with nothing else, the idea of his soulmate. However, it only takes one decision to bring the boy out of the clouds and crash painfully back down to Earth. 

The encore for the Flying Graysons starts. It’s their last show in Gotham City. No one sees the acid corroding the ropes. No one smells it. If they do, it’s chalked up to the stench of the circus. Dick’s on the platform, a hand outstretched ready to catch Mom whenever she lands.

Father’s ropes snap first. Then Mother’s. 

The boy opens his mouth to release a horrified cry. 

But nothing comes. 

YOUR SOULMATE HAS CHOSEN [ STAY SILENT. ]

His hands curl into tight fists, slamming down hard on the platform. Dick silently curses his soulmate. He wants to let it out. He wants to join the chorus of terrified onlookers. 

But he’s quiet. Quiet as he holds his dead parents’ hands. Quiet as the tears stream down his cheeks. And quiet as Bruce Wayne wraps a shock blanket around him. The first time he’s able to speak is on the way to that big, lonely manor of his. 

“Mr. Wayne?” 

“Yes?” 

“My soulmate made me be quiet. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. I hate it. I hate my soulmate. I hate—“

Bruce’s eyes soften then. “Listen to me, Dick. Your soulmate might make choices for you now. They might decide the things you do, but they don’t define who you are. You are free to carve your own destiny.” 

Six months later, he joins the caped crusader as Robin. It’s an additional eight months after that when he finally meets Deathstroke. 

Batman and Robin have been tracking the mercenary’s movements through the area. He fulfilled a contract in New York, Washington D.C., Maine. It was only a matter of time before he hit Gotham. When analyzing Deathstroke’s movements, Batman makes a point to show an important movement. 

“See that?” Bruce asks. 

Robin squints at the masked merc on the screen. “He stopped shooting there, but only for a second.” 

“That’s right. Why is that?” 

“Um, maybe he’s refocusing?” 

“Close. He made a decision. Presumably for—“ 

“— his soulmate! So Deathstroke hasn’t met his soulmate yet. That means he has to pause sometimes to decide things!” 

“Correct. That’s something we can use. When we meet him, be prepared to strike during those moments.” 

“Yes, sir!” 

They run into the world’s greatest assassin that night. 

He stalks through a warehouse, shamelessly ripping through thugs and security like play-doh. Gore and viscera litter the floor. Luckily for Dick, they’re traveling up through the rafters— safe from the sight and the stench. They trail Wilson through the vents and beams. All until they’re led to a dead end. 

“You’re good, Batman,” Deathstroke says. “I almost didn’t notice you. Your little friend is not. I suggest you both come out before I put a bullet in his head.” 

Batman nods towards Robin. Deathstroke wastes no time in attacking as soon as they land. He’s confident in his movements. Robin waits in the ready, kicking at the mercenary’s torso and arms when Bruce gives him the clear. 

“Your little bird isn’t too shabby, Bat. It’s almost a shame I have to clip his wings.” 

“Ha! You wish, old man!” 

“Robin—“ 

The mercenary takes a well-aimed shot at the weakest point on the Bat’s suit while he’s distracted. The blow sends Batman to the ground. 

DECIDE. 

[ SCREAM. ] [ STAY SILENT. ] 

Damnit, again kid?

YOU HAVE CHOSEN [ STAY SILENT. ]

That’s it. This is the moment Bruce talked about. Robin takes a swift swipe at Deathstroke’s legs. Slade has to restrain the gasp that nearly leaves his lips. He catches himself on his hands, pushing off to regain his balance. A low growl rumbles from the back of his throat. This brat nearly grounded him. 

Batman must be a damn better trainer than he previously assumed. Slade delivers a hard kick to the boy’s abdomen, sending him back into a stack of crates. 

“What’s a matter, little bird? No more quips?” 

YOUR SOULMATE HAS CHOSEN [ STAY SILENT. ]

Damnit, again? 

Dick struggles to regain his breath from the powerful blow. Instead, he opts to raise a middle finger before losing consciousness completely. 

Deathstroke is gone before Batman rises. 

Over the next few years, Robin trains under Bruce’s wing. He learns how to adjust to being a hero as well as a potential soulmate. He finds that more often than not, his soulmate chooses wisely for him in battle— though Bruce tells him never to rely on it. His soulmate might not always be there. 

Robin and Deathstroke meet up time and time again. Each encounter ends similar to their first. Robin ends on the ground and Deathstroke makes some quick escape. By the time he starts the Teen Titans, Robin begins to look forward to the challenge Deathstroke brings. 

— 

Slade hates that he can’t get rid of the fucking brat. He’s killed kids before. Not happily, but he’s done it. Why can’t he just do it to the quippy nuance of a teenager? 

Wintergreen thinks it’s because of Grant’s memory. They were so close in age, it’s hard not to see some similarities between the two. Or perhaps it’s because his only *other* son is on the brat’s stupid team. 

Grant died first. Then, Adeline shot him and left far before she was given a temporary light green eye— the color of Barry’s. Naturally, it fixed itself when they finally met. So much for a happy fucking family. Joseph is all he has left. And as long as he cares about Robin, how can he take that away? Sure, he’s attacked many times— sometimes just to test how good of a leader he is. And perhaps he’s taken Robin out of the game before, but never killed him. 

His only friend throws out the possibility of Robin being Slade’s soulmate, but only once. Slade shoots that down faster than he can even spit out the sentence. There’s no way. Dick Grayson cannot be Slade Wilson’s soulmate. Oh, that little secret was spilled the last time they fought. He deduced Batman’s identity only a few weeks after finding out Robin’s. For some fucking reason, he’d promised Dick to keep it quiet. 

“It’s more fun that way,” he said. 

Dick’s tropical blue glare didn’t seem to believe him. 

Slade didn’t believe himself, either. 

Still, he finds himself watching the clock as it counts down to Dick’s eighteenth birthday. Midnight strikes. Slade waits with bated breath and a whiskey for this kid to start choosing shit for him. He’s gonna have him looking like a fool regularly. Or worse, getting killed. Even worse than that, he might force Deathstroke to walk the straight and narrow. 

It’s that thought that makes him nauseous. 

But the hours pass. 

Nothing. 

Slade’s life is his own for two more days. 

YOUR SOULMATE HAS CHOSEN [ ACCEPT CONTRACT. ] 

He’s caught off-guard, nearly slipping in the shower. It’s foreign to be on the receiving end of this whole soulmate thing. From his bedroom, his phones ring. The offer he’s given is a good one. His soulmate chose well, though he hesitates to put Dick Grayson’s name to it. He’ll need more definitive proof. Perhaps his soulmate is just one with a similar birthday. 

Though that would be significantly less fun.

The next time they meet certainly holds none of the same fun to it. No, it seems this time they’re on something of the same side. This time, they unite to stop Jericho, possessed by some other-worldly spirits. If Robin called on Slade for help, things had to be horrible at best. 

The battle is long and painstaking. It’s clear there’s no more Joseph left to be saved. That knowledge allows him to fight without holding back. With Deathstroke and Robin teaming up, Jericho ends in a bloody puddle on the ground. Dick takes his hand as Slade rips off his mask to scoop up his only child as he struggles to draw breath. 

“Please— please, Dad. Please end it.” 

“Slade.” Robin slips off his mask, too. He takes the katana Joseph barely clutches. “I can—“ 

“No,” he chokes out. “No. Joseph is my son. I’ll do it.”

DECIDE. 

[ SCREAM. ] [ STAY SILENT. ]

YOU HAVE CHOSEN [ STAY SILENT. ]

Dick stays by Slade’s side until he’s ready to bury the boy’s body. They dig together. Silent. They mourn together. Silent. 

Only after Jericho’s body rests on a hill near the Titans Tower does Dick dare to speak. 

“I’m so—“ 

“This is your fault,” he hisses. “If Jericho had never been on your team, this never would’ve happened.” 

Dick’s blood-stained face goes dark in a way that would make even Slade jealous. “He chose to be a part of this. You aren’t the only one who cared about him, Deathstroke.”

“You better pray we don’t meet again, little bird. I will not be so merciful.” 

Slade returns to Bludhaven only ten months later. His grief growing, and nowhere to put it but on Dick Grayson’s shoulders. The kid’s been training in his absence, taken up a new mantle as Nightwing, protector of Gotham’s bootleg shithole.

“Are you sure about this?” Wintergreen asks. 

“Positive.” 

“Dick loved him too.” 

“You and I both know love has nothing to do with it. If he’d— if he hadn’t seduced my son into the world of capes and heroes and the fucking Titans, Joey would still be alive.” 

DECIDE. 

[ GO OUT.] [ STAY IN. ] 

YOU HAVE CHOSEN [ GO OUT. ]

It’s a bad night to be a bird. 

— 

Dick deals with Jericho’s death in his own way. He takes a step back from the Titans, relocates to Bludhaven to hopefully discover who exactly Dick Grayson is, and who is he without the influence of Deathstroke. He keeps track of the mercenary’s movements around the world, always wondering when— always hoping— he might someday return to find him. Not that he can explain why he waits to see the mercenary again. Dick tells himself it’s because Slade’s fun and challenging. Keeps him on his toes. The nagging quiet (and perhaps a bit frightening) truth is the shared attraction between them; like two ends of a magnet. And after their last meeting, he longs to return to their former rhythm. 

Or maybe something else— something more. 

He reminds himself that Slade needs time to mourn Joey. Dick needs that time too. But maybe they could be doing it together. 

10 Dick doesn’t know who his soulmate is, but he knows they’re older, disciplined too. Slade fits the bill. And now he’s finally in a position where he can spare some thought on the topic of soulmates. 

So he waits. He waits 10 months, exactly. 

YOUR SOULMATE HAS CHOSEN [ GO OUT. ] 

Who is he to argue? He slides on his mask, costume, and slips into the night sky. He’s found by the mercenary not even fifteen minutes into his routine. Despite the downpour, Wilson takes a well-aimed shot into Dick’s left thigh.

Nightwing immediately goes down on the rooftop, groaning in pain. He forces himself to peek out over the lip of the edge to find a very angry assassin grappling up to his location. Fuck. Dick rolls to the side, dodging a punch when Slade finally lands. 

“Long time no see,” Grayson chuckles. He rises from the ground, leaning against an entrance to the apartments below to take weight off the injury. “I can’t believe someone actually paid you out the ass to take me out.” 

“This isn’t business. Not this time.” 

Dick runs a hand through his dark hair. “Then what the hell are you here for? And why’d you take such a cheap shot?” 

“This is personal.” Deathstroke unsheathes his katanas. “And I’m not playing games anymore, boy.” 

He charges without warning. Nightwing handsprings backwards as fast as his damaged leg allows; it’s still not enough to keep the sharp swords from occasionally slicing his skin. 

“Fuck, Slade! What the hell is your problem?” 

“I told you to pray we don’t meet again. This is for Joey.” 

“Joey wouldn’t want this,” Dick protests, leaping over Slade. He lands a single kick against his jaw. He lands uncharacteristically clumsily on his ass. Gonna be a long fight. He has to wrap this up quickly and get this leg looked at. “I know you miss him. I miss him too!” 

But Slade wastes no time. Nor does he listen. A katana flies from his hand and pierces Dick’s arm, pinning him to the roof. 

“AGH!” 

Deathstroke straddles Nightwing, a viciousness coming out in a way he’d never released on the kid. He abandons his weapons to better bash his fists against Grayson’s face. HIs armored knuckles crack and shatter against that thin black mask of his. The white lenses shatter under the pressure. 

“Slade!” Dick calls out between punches. “Slade, I’m sorry! I’m sorry about Joey! He didn’t deserve to die and you didn’t deserve to lose him! Slade, please.” 

For the first time, Slade Wilson looks down. He sees Dick’s features, including one blue eyes and one icy one that clearly isn’t his own. He clambers off the kid, reaching for his own reflective helmet. And when he pulls off his mask, he discovers the concrete truth that’s been growing on him since Nightwing’s eighteenth birthday. In the reflection, he sees an eye so tropical and ocean in it’s color than it can only belong to Dick Grayson. 

And with that, Slade is given one more choice to make. But not for Dick. Rather, for himself. 

DECIDE. 

[ KILL. ] [ SAVE. ] 

Dick coughs up blood and finally rips the katana from his arm. He slowly eases himself upright.

“Well? What will you do?” 

He turns back, a single ocean eye wide and teary. An identical box hovers over Dick; he can see it, too. 

The mercenary growls, grabbing a pistol from his thigh. He lunges over to the injured vigilante, knocking him down once again and shoving the weapon into his temple. “I should kill you. Give me a reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now.” 

Nightwing peels off the rest of his mask. In all of his childhood dreams of meeting his soulmate, it was never like this. Never when he clung to breath like a vice and especially not with Slade’s gun to his head. He forces himself to look him in the eye—to see the matching color of his gaze. Dick can only imagine one of his own eyes are the same, beautiful icy color as Slade’s. 

“I loved Joey too. If I knew it was going to end this way, I never would’ve allowed him on the team.” 

“That’s not good enough, Grayson!” 

“When I was a kid, I loved Robin Hood.”

“What?” 

“You had me reading all the comics and books I could get my hands on. I— I was always more drawn to my mother to my father, solely because you had me training with her. From the time I was born, you’ve challenged me— pushed my limits. Look, I can’t give you a reason not to kill me. But I can give you twenty years of why I don’t want you to. You have always been there for me, Slade. Let me be here for you now. ” 

Slade tries his best to ignore the warmth brimming at the edge of his eye. His grip on the gun loosens.

“But if you want to,” Dick heaves, “if you really want to, be my guest. I’m just glad I got to meet you. I’ve known you all my life. I think I’ve loved you since then too.” 

Nightwing’s eyes fall shut after the remnants of icy blue fade away. Fate’s job has all but been completed.

“Dick? Stay with me, kid. Wintergreen, do you have my location?”

“As always.” 

“Drop the ladder. Prepare the medical kit. We’re coming up.” 

YOUR SOULMATE HAS CHOSEN [ SAVE. ]


	2. Day 2 - Merfolk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry this is late lmao. This is also a shorter one!

He’s seen pirate weddings before, but only from afar. Never once did Nightwing think he’d have the unfortunate circumstance of being in one. Annoyingly loud, drunken songs can be heard even from behind the closed door of the kitchen. Surface dwellers are always so clumsy with themselves. Their music is no different. Dick walks (slowly— he’s still not used to these legs) over to the open window. The crashing waves provide a break from the outer deck. Bright blue eyes travel across the waves and land on a lone siren hundreds of yards away. 

It’s his brother.

Nightwing knows being captured is practically a death sentence to his people. If he were with Damian right now, he’d scold him for being too close to a ship that’s recently been made aware of the sirens’ existence. 

The younger creature sings out a song of lament. It spans across the waves and reaches his ears in slow, quiet succession. Nightwing’s hand extends out— the tips of two, blue middle fingers stretching out to him. Dick returns a similar tune back to him, not audible to anyone without a fin. He instructs Damian to leave; tells him to find the others, to travel with them. And as his brother’s sad song drifts out of earshot, tears swell against the edge of his eyes— it’s funny what being human does to a siren. Shedding physical tears is a foreign concept yet here he is, crying all the same. 

A human sound grabs his attention, then. 

“Dick, right? That’s what they call you?” 

“Yes,” he returns, finally pulling himself away from the ocean. “That’s one of my names.” 

“Come here, Dick.” The Chef— only known as Chef to the crew, motions for him to step forward. Who is Dick, the resident captive husband-to-be to deny him? He avoids the gaze of the man as he ties beautiful knots in the shirt that hangs far too big on the slender siren. It’s his future husband’s shirt. Unfortunately, their next stop to a market won’t be for another week or so. So Chef does his best to make this groom presentable.

Starting with those big tears streaking sun-kissed skin. 

“The captain’s a rough man— but he ain’t without heart, kid.” 

Nightwing scoffs. 

“I ain’t lyin’ kid. You just gotta get through to it. It’ll take time— ‘specially with you. You’re a rare case.” 

“I’m flattered.” 

Chef shakes his head, tying a blue band around the siren’s waist. “Now I’m not sayin’ he’s done right by you. I’m just tryin’ to give you a piece of advice before you step out there and put yourself in a world of misery. If anyone can get through to him, I think it’ll be you.” 

“And if I don’t?” 

“God help us all.” The older man grabs a fresh linen off his table and wipes the stream of tears off of Dick’s cheek. “I know you’ve gone through a lot, kid. You’re about to go through a lot more if you’re boo-hooin’ out there in front of everyone. I know it’s tough, but you have to pull it together.” 

Nightwing nods, then. He’s right. Finally, here’s one fucking human with an ounce of common sense. 

“That’s a good lad. Here, put on this final touch.” 

He’s handed a gold necklace. Both the charm and chain are foreign to him. Some human tradition, he’s sure. 

Wintergreen pokes his head through the kitchen door as the final adjustments are made.   
“Are we ready in here?” 

“I think so, sir.” 

“Good. Captain doesn’t want to wait any longer.” 

“Tell him to start. We’re ready.”

The shanties outside lower into something of a chorale, splitting between harmonies and melodies. Dick and Chef stand side-by-side behind the doors. On Wintergreen’s cue, they open. The siren beholds a grotesque crew of criminals and thieves. They ogle and stare without restraint. Nightwing’s breath hitches in his throat upon following the path up to the center of the deck. 

Captain Slade Wilson stands proudly. Of course he does, the bastard. No matter how Dick’s tried to escape him, the asshole has been two steps ahead. He knows that even if he should try to escape now, he wouldn’t make it halfway to the water before a harpoon hit his fin again. 

“Remember what I said, lad.” 

Nightwing clenches his jaw and unclenches his fist. Instead, it comes to rest on Chef’s arm. The elder human walks him down the aisle, a physical support to lean on when his new human legs start to give out. 

It feels like an eternity before they finally reach the captain and his first mate. Slade takes his hands. In the circumstance, Dick doesn’t know whether or not it’s to help support him or to claim him.

Either way, Nightwing hates it. He leans on his own legs as much as he’s able to.

Unfortunately, he finds himself leaning on Slade more than he’d like. Those strong hands brace his marked forearms, keeping him steady. 

He hates being able to trust that they will always be there. 

Wintergreen begins the ceremony with a question. “Do your people have weddings, Dick?” 

Tropical blue glare shifts from Slade’s single eye to his crewmate. “Yes.” 

“Well, I don’t know how your people tie the knot, but up top, we do things a little differently.” A string of laughter follows this remark. “I hope you’ll oblige us if it’s a little unorthodox for you. Will you do that for us?” 

The siren’s tongue wets his dry lips, taking a moment to contain both anger and sorrow. Again, his gaze flickers from one man to the next. He only answers when Slade gives him a nod of approval.

“Yes, I will.” 

This is how most of the ceremony goes. Dick repeats words he doesn’t mean, promises he’ll never care to keep. Like humans, sirens mate for life. But this? This is nothing to him. These half-drunken words spilling emotionless out of his lips will never amount to anything. 

As the ceremony comes to a conclusion, Wintergreen pronounces them husband and siren— haha it’s just so funny, isn’t it? Slade pulls him in close for that first kiss. Panic causes his heart to race as the captain nears. He expects Slade to make a fool of him, to dip him or violate him in front of the crowd.

Instead, the kiss he’s given is a chaste, quick one. 

It nearly shocks the vicious grip of hate from his chest. 

If anyone can get through to him, I think it’ll be you. That’s what he said. And despite as merciless and heartless Dick thought Slade to be before, that kiss dulls his previous perception on his captor turned husband.


	3. Day 3- Bounty on Robin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha if you see this late no you didn’t.   
> Anyways, this is more bounty on Nightwing than a bounty on Robin.

It seems like everyone in Bludhaven is looking for Dick Grayson. All but the world’s greatest mercenary, at least. As Deathstroke approaches the apartment door, he wastes no time in kicking it open. Normally he’d just pick the lock, but the kid doesn’t have that kind of time. It’s quiet in the two-bed; far too quiet for his liking. 

“Grayson?” He snaps. “Dick?” 

As if on cue, Nightwing slides in through his kitchen window. “I saw you enter the complex.” He slides off his mask, giving the mercenary something of a smile. “You’re paying for new locks, Slade.” 

“Pack a bag, now. We’re leaving.” 

“You know I can’t get up and go on these little vacations without warning.” 

“This isn’t a vacation,” he barks, “and I’m not asking. Get moving.” 

Dick is hesitant to follow the other into his bedroom. “Where’s the fire? What’s going on?” 

Slade tosses him one of his many phones. 

Nightwing finds a horrifying image with even more paralyzing text. 

The picture is of him. It’s Nightwing perched up one of Bludhaven’s many rooftops. The text below it reads: 

“ _50 MIL for capture of Dick Grayson AKA Nightwing. Instructions to follow after collection. Wanted alive._ ”

Dick’s stomach drops to his toes then through the floor beneath it. It takes every ounce of willpower to keep from lunging to the nearest trash can and losing the contents of his stomach. Sun-kissed skin turns pale. 

“Someone knows Dick Grayson is Nightwing. And they’re not afraid to broadcast it.”

“Clearly,” the mercenary growls. Slade can nearly hear the kid’s shock from behind. “You’re getting out of here.” 

“What?” He scoffs. “No way. I can’t just run from this.” 

“Kid, I’ve got no clue who put this hit out and this is just the starting bid. As it rises, you’re gonna have every big bad on your ass.” 

“Wait. You don’t know who put it out?” 

Wilson tosses him the packed bag. “Not yet, but oh. When I find out—”

Dick’s hand shoots out, grabbing a shoulder glad in orange armor. “If you don’t know, then there’s only one place we should be going.” 

“Not a chance. I’m not getting Daddy Bat involved.” 

“It’s not your choice, Slade. If there’s anyone who can figure this out, it’s—”

The sentence is cut short as the kitchen window shatters. 

The battle for Dick Grayson has begun.

Both the mercenary and vigilante prepare for a fight. A lone assassin foolishly barges into the bedroom. A baton and a bullet fly through the air at the same time. Unfortunately, the bullet hits first. 

“No killing.” 

“Altar boy.” 

They’re not given a chance to argue it further. Assassins burst in from all but the previously broken kitchen window. All of them have their greedy eyes set on Dick. 

“Wintergreen, we need immediate evacuation.” Slade barks the order as they scramble up the fire escape. Deathstroke lingers, holding off the mercenaries. They’re good— great even. But not quite as good as him. 

Grayson climbs the ladder first, then Wilson. As the vehicle pulls away, shadows and glints from weapons can be seen overwhelming the complex. 

The bid on Nightwing must be going up. 

“Where to this time? Peru? Italy, perhaps?” 

“Gotham.” 

As the pair were expecting, Batman’s already on the case. 

Current bid: 100 MIL. 

“So?” Slade pushes. “Have you figured who put out the hit?” 

And just as they were expecting, Batman’s less than pleased with his presence. 

“Still working on it. Whoever put it out covered their tracks well. This is no ordinary mobster or politician. I’m surprised you didn’t take up the offer, Deathstroke.” 

“Tch. And if I told you it isn’t worth my while yet?” 

Dick knows he’s lying. Just trying to get under Bruce’s skin. Once more, he runs intervention between the two. As different as they are, their striking similarities often get the best of them. “It’s not like that anymore. You know that. Look, I’m coming to you for help, Bruce. I really need both of you to cooperate. Please?” 

Batman thinks for a moment, frown clearly visible without shelter from the cowl. “You should lay low—”

“For once, we agree.” 

“Go off the grid. Let the bid die down.” 

“I don’t want to do that, Bruce.” 

Deathstroke’s also hesitant to agree, but only selfishly. And that’s the only reason he goes along with it. “He’s right, Grayson. You have to start running. Now. Mercenaries everywhere are hunting you down as we speak.” 

“In the meantime, Robin and I will track the origin of the hit from here. You know how to lay low, Dick.” 

“Hang on.” The vigilante interrupts the plan-making. “I can’t help but feel like I’m not being given much of a choice here. You both know how I don’t do that. The three of us are here together. Why can’t we just tag team it?” 

“It’s not that simple,” Batman says. 

Slade follows up. “Whoever knows your identity has the money and power to out it. I suspect they know exactly how we’ll move. They’ll be prepared for us to push back.”

“But—”

“You’re not doing this only for yourself, Dick. If they know your identity, it’s likely they know Bruce and Damian Wayne’s too.” 

Current bid: 125 MIL. 

“Fine. I’ll go. But only to keep the kid safe.” 

“I’ll have the Batwing meet us at the docks. Anyone could be looking for signs of suspicious activity around Wayne Manor. Dick, you leave through the front doors. Deathstroke and I will take the back entrance with the car and meet you down the road.” 

Grayson says his last goodbyes to Alfred and Damian. Who knows how long it’ll be before he sees these walls again? Before he sees any of this again? Such a whirlwind night, the young man is simply trying to grasp it all. He parts them with a wave and starts down the driveway. 

“Slade.” 

“What?” 

“Take care of him.” 

“You know I will.” 

—

The docks brim over with a thick mist from the early morning. It’s silent as the three men climb out of the car. Far too quiet, they find. 

The silence is quickly broken. A mob of mobsters and assassins alike come running like a hoard of zombies over the horizon. Batman readies a batarang. Slade unsheathes his katanas. Nightwing activates his escrima sticks. 

“Where the hell is this plane of yours?” 

“Coming.” 

The battle begins with gunshots. One, specifically through Slade’s arm. Gotham’s Bat stands on the defense, using his brutish strength and quick movements to fend off the oncomers. All other attention is focused on Dick Grayson. It’s almost as if they don’t see the other two. Neither Deathstroke nor Batman is given an ounce of attention if they can stand it. Unfortunately for them, both tanks work in tandem to tears through assassins like clay. The sickening sound of viscera and cracking bones fills the quiet between the short, second-long shocks of Nightwing’s weapons. He’s all over the pier, the natural acrobat. However, the pier doesn’t provide adequate space to move around. 

A low rumble rises from the water. 

“Nightwing, now!” 

Always on cue, Dick leaps for the water and instead finds the Batwing’s interior. The dome closes over his head and the plane takes off. 

“Good evening, Master Dick.” Aflred greets through the main screen. “It seems we’re taking one last trip together. Where shall we head this evening?” 

Without the presence of their target, their opponents quickly disperse. No need to fight the bat, nor their superior merc. 

“Where did you send him?” 

“I don’t know,” Batman says. “I wouldn’t let him tell me.” 

Slade snarls from behind his mask. “You fool. Now we’ll never find—”

“Think about it, Deathstroke. Whoever knew Dick Grayson is Nightwing must also know you and I both have ties to him. They’ll know we’ll try to track him down.” 

“I don’t like it. They could find him anywhere and he’ll be on his own.” 

“Trust me, Slade. Dick can handle himself.” 

“Fine.” Wilson storms away without another glance back. Dick Grayson’s a big boy, he tells himself. He’ll be fine. 

From the Batwing, Dick watches Slade and Bruce fade out of his vision. 

Fuck. 

He never got to say goodbye. 

—

Current bid: 200 MIL. 

Days in hiding: 3

After leaving Gotham, Dick sticks to everything he’s been taught. He keeps himself off of cameras, no traceable transactions, no phones, no contact with anyone from the US. 

He stays in various cheap hotels. Always moving, always thinking of home, but never fulfilling that homesickness. He keeps a picture of the Waynes and a printed out selfie with Slade tucked in his pocket. Other than that, he can only hope this passes soon. 

Current bid: 400 MIL. 

Days upon hiding: 8

Still no word. No sign. Nothing. Dick caved and purchased a burner phone. Two contacts are saved. He doesn’t call either of them. 

Current bid: 650 MIL. 

Days in hiding: 14

Silence. 

Current bid: 873 MIL. 

Days in hiding: 19

Silence. 

It takes three weeks and four days for the bid to reach one billion US dollars. Now everyone in the world is looking for Dick Grayson, including the world’s greatest mercenary. But not for the reason he might hope. 

The best guns are converging on the kid now. How long did he really plan on Dick being able to keep this up? He’s good, but born for the limelight. Even hiding out in the cold wastelands of Russia, Grayson practically radiates. And that’s not just Slade’s previous affection for him talking. 

Previous being the keyword. It took two days for Slade to piece together who so desperately wanted Grayson’s head. It took almost three more weeks for it to become worth his time— worth betraying Nightwing for it. 

“Slade Wilson, do you accept our contract?” 

Deathstroke nods from behind his helmet. “Any requests for when I do it?” 

“Now that you mention it, yes.” 

—

Current bid: 5 BIL. 

Days in hiding: 34

Until he fulfills the contract, the bid remains open. He can only respect that. Now everyone in the world _must_ be looking for Dick Grayson, save for the world’s greatest assassin. 

“Hello?” Grayson peeks through the crack between the lock and the door; all suspicious and on-guard until he’s seen. Then bright blue eyes light up. Wilson almost wishes he’d stay cautious. Grayson undoes the lock and throws himself into the assassin’s arms. 

“Slade! I knew you’d come to me.” 

“Always, kid. Couldn’t leave you like this, could I?” 

Dick’s hands run up the mercenary’s shoulders, finally landing on either side of his face. 

“Come here. I never got to say goodbye, and I wasn’t so sure I’d see you for a while and—”

Deathstroke interrupts him with a kiss far too sweet. Dick’s too enthralled. He doesn’t notice the overwhelming honey, nor the syringe in his palm until it’s too late. Dizziness sends him to his knees. 

“Wait.” Grayson grips onto the other’s arms. His vision goes blurry. “Wait, Slade. You— what?” 

“It was an offer I couldn’t refuse. Nothing personal, Grayson.” 

His ocean blue gaze goes stormy with tears and anger. 

“I trusted you!” He yells. His words slur as he’s thrown over Slade’s shoulder. “I loved you!” 

But Deathstroke doesn’t answer. 

Dick’s woken up with two rough slaps on the cheek. 

“Rise and shine, pretty bird.” 

“Fuck you,” he spits. 

He’s restrained at the wrist and legs. Despite struggling against the ropes, he knows Slade tied them well— knows that his captor knows him better than he knows himself. 

The mercenary smirks. “You did. I remember clearly. Unfortunately, being good in bed isn’t going to save you now.” 

A teary gaze glances around. They’re outside, settled on some concrete slab lined with golden runes and writings. 

“Where the hell are we?” Dick snaps. “Who is your client? Don’t I at least get to know who hired you?” 

“Still Russia. And no, I’m bound to client confidentiality. You’ll know exactly what they want you to know.” 

A plane roars overhead. 

“There they are now. It’s time, Grayson.” 

In the middle of the grief of betrayal, facing death doesn’t seem too frightening. How fitting after all these years of manipulating him, fighting him, sleeping with him, Deathstroke has finally won. Nightwing— Robin loses. 

Wilson drags him to the center of the slab by the collar and hoists him into a standing position. 

“Slade,” Dick whispers, tears streaking his cheeks. 

“This is who you wanted!” Deathstroke shouts to the nearing plane. 

“Please.” 

“This is your Gray Son of Gotham! This is your sacrificial lamb!” 

“I love you.” 

Slade Wilson drives the katana through Dick’s torso. He groans. Crimson stains his white shirt and spills into the runes below. 

And at last, his heart stops. 

His killer lays the body down in clear view of the onlookers. 

“This is your Gray Son—” he chokes out, ignoring the growing knot in his own throat. “I hope you’re appeased!” 

From the wilderness, a representative for the Court of Owls scurries forward. They examine the body, confirm it to be dead, and return from wherever it is they came from. 

Slade’s phone buzzes in his pocket. 5 BIL transfers to his account. Another contract is complete. The plane flies away soon after the transfer. 

Now, there’s no one looking for Dick Grayson. He’s dead. He’s dead at the hands of Deathstroke. 

He drops to his knees to cradle the corpse in his arms. Warm, painful tears escape through his icy eye. 

A lower voice comes from above. “You knew this would happen.” 

Slade wipes away his sorrow. “I didn’t expect it to be like this.” 

“What did you expect, Wilson?” Batman scolds. “You’re a mercenary. This is what you do. You thought you could do the same to Dick without the consequences you brought on yourself?” 

“I don’t know,” he confesses. “I don’t know what I thought. Just get on with it.” 

The bat nears the corpse. He has his own syringe in his fingers. Similarly, Bruce inserts the needle into its neck, emptying the bioluminescent greenish-blue substance. 

“And what did you say this shit does?” 

“It’s water from the Lazarus Pit. It’ll heal him.” 

“Does it normally take this long?” 

“My, Slade. It almost sounds like you’re worried about him.” 

“I am,” he growls. “I’ve seen thousands of corpses, but I can’t look at his.” 

“Hm. It is strange hearing him so silent,” Batman agrees with the smallest curve of his lips. 

Just as foretold, the Lazarus Pit restores the body. It knits Dick’s torso back together from the slit of his katana. It cleans away the impurities from the drug he’d previously been given. 

And then, like the sweetest sound Slade’s ever heard, Dick gasps awake. 

“It’s you.”

“Dick.” Bruce eases a hand onto his shoulder. “Welcome back.” 

“But you—” he swallows hard. His hands run down his torso. Blood still stains his shirt, but there’s no wound to be found. “You—” 

“Daddy Bat gave you some Lazarus juice.” 

This pulls a full smirk from Bruce. 

“You said you’d never use it.” 

“I made an exception.” 

The youngest of the three clutches his chest. The ache from Slade’s seemingly betrayal still aches. “And you! You betrayed me!” 

“Couldn’t risk you knowing.” 

“It took us three weeks to put this together, Dick. We tracked down the organization who put out the bid— the Court of Owls, and planned until the time was right—”

“Until it became worth my while.” 

“And then it was only a matter of time before we found you.”  This time, it’s Bruce’s phone to ring. “Yes, Damian. I’m on my way back to Gotham now. I trust you two can handle things from here.” 

“Yeah. Thank you, Bruce.” 

Silence follows the bat all the way back to his high-tech plane. 

Grayson only speaks when he’s sure they’re alone. “Slade, I thought—”

“I know what you thought,” he returns gruffly. “I want you to know, doing this was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” 

“But you knew.” 

“But what if I didn’t? What if the last thing you said to me was that, and I ignored you? What if I had actually killed you?” 

Dick’s hand brushes across Slade’s cheek. “Bruce wouldn’t have agreed to this if he wasn’t sure.” 

The mercenary unclenches his jaw. “Still—” 

This time, it’s Dick to interrupt Slade with a kiss. “Still nothing. You saved me.” 

“What did you expect? I love you.” 

“I love you too.” Grayson pauses, finally sitting up on his own. “What now? I mean, Dick Grayson’s dead. I can’t go back to Bludhaven so soon.” 

Wilson leans back on his palms. “Stay with me for a while. I figured we could spend some time together; I’m certainly not going to need any clients for a while.” 

“I guess I could use a vacation.” 

Slade quirks a silver brow. “Russia sounds nice.” 

“You’re fucking kidding me. Absolutely not.” Dick laughs, and it’s as if the heavens laugh with him. “I wanna be on a beach, old man. Take me somewhere warm and sunny.” 

“Happily.”


	4. Day 5 - “What Do You Want From Me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed a lot of interest in the mermaid AU from earlier this week. So this is a continuation— or rather a prequel to Day 2.

“Agh!” The siren screeches an unworldly cry, far different than the beautiful song that had lured the pirate to him. “My fin! You— you ruined it!” 

“You’re even more beautiful up close,” Captain Slade Wilson murmurs, all captivated and infatuated with this beautiful thing. He’s been chasing this creature for weeks. 

The siren struggles against the weight of the net. “What do you want from me?” 

This rouses a belly laugh out of the pirate. “What do I want from you? I want nothing from you. I want you. And now I have you.” 

“What are you going to do with me?”

Now isn’t that the question? What is he going to do with him— with this precious, priceless jewel the sea has so generously given him? Scaling and hanging the corpse in his den is an option, but perhaps the least appealing. What good is he if Slade kills him and his marks lose their shine? What good is a diamond without its sparkle? 

The captain sits in front of his captured beauty. His hand scratching the silver hair along his chin. The poor thing finally sits up and examines the harpoon piercing the end of his tail. Blue blood pools around the wound. 

Imagine that. A creature with blue blood. All his. All his in beautiful, mystic glory. 

Wilson removes the net from over the creature. Nightwing cowers at the sight of a human standing over him— no doubt he’s been given a less-than-appealing opinion on the subject of creatures with legs. 

“Wintergreen!” He shouts. 

His first mate appears second laters. “Yes, Captain?” 

He shall be kept alive, and kept as a prize on Slade’s ship. 

“Bring me the medical kit. Fill the case in my quarters with sea water.” 

“Understood.” 

Only a few moments after the command is given, Wintergreen returns with the kit. Slade takes it and bends before his prize. With uncharacteristically tender hands, he pulls out the harpoon. 

“Apply pressure here.” 

Nightwing’s hand moves to the exit wound. Four blue finger stripes are stained even darker with his own blood. He struggles to keep this grip as the pirate patches up the first injury. 

“Keep still.” 

The siren moves his fin to better assist his captor’s work. His hands are warm against his blue and gold scales. Nightwing tries to remind himself that despite his help, there is still very clear danger here. Captain Wilson still owns him. 

“There,” he mutters. “Should heal fine. Dunno how your kind heals, though. For a normal human, this injury would probably take a month.” 

Bright eyes soften, and Slade could melt in that heavenly gaze.

“Why did you help me?” 

“Can’t let my diamond have a scratch in it.” 

Hope seems to vanish from the siren; it’s his own fault for mistaking Wilson’s kindness to be anything other than personal gain. He’s a pirate for Chrissakes. He doesn’t know how sirens operate, but clearly this one is riddled with naivety towards human nature. 

It’s almost sad that such a beauty would have the unfortunate circumstance of meeting the most feared pirate across the seven seas. 

“Oh.” 

“Don’t get it twisted. This here wasn’t an act of friendship.” 

“Good,” Nightwing spits. “I could never be friends with the likes of you.” 

‘Friends.’ The captain mulls that word over. Friends. Captor. Prize. Jewel. No, friends is far too light for what they are— for what Slade wants them to be. 

“Is it ready?”

“Aye, Captain.” Wintergreen affirms. “The case is full.” 

Wilson picks up the being, who just lets him do so. The siren seems distracted, drained even. His eyes and ears pull towards the sea. He can only wonder what he’s hearing or seeing that human eyes can’t comprehend. That bugging question doesn’t last long, as Slade holds him bridal style across the ship. 

That’s it. 

That’s what he wants them to be. 

That’s what they WILL be. 

This thing will be his in name and all. He will be Slade’s husband. 

“Do you have a name?” The captain questions, softly. 

“Nightwing.” 

“Hm. What about a human alias?” 

Nightwing shoots him an offended look. 

“I don’t know much about your kind, but I do know you have the capability of blending in with humans. So what is it?” 

“Dick Grayson.” 

“Nice to finally put a name to the face. You’re already aware of who I am?”

“Unfortunately. You’re the pirate, Slade Wilson. The terror of the seven seas. Captain of the deadliest ship to set sail: Deathstroke.” 

“That’s right,” he says, setting Nightwing in the glass cage far too small for him. “And you’re going to be his husband.”


	5. Day 7- Meeting the Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working on the last chapter! But here! This chapter definitely took a bit of a slight turn. I see a lot of Slade-Meeting-The-Batfam. I decided to go another route.

Dick and Jason travel to Addie's house together. Slade and Rose went ahead a few hours ago to finish preparations. According to his boyfriend, they're the last to arrive. Dick's knuckles rap on the door. Jay holds the bottle of wine-- a gift from both of them to their host for the evening. With his free hand, Jason fidgets with his turtleneck; this is absolutely not his style, but it's important to Rose. And Dick doesn't seem too worried. In fact, he even gives his younger brother a playful nudge in the side. 

"You look fine. Stop acting so nervous." 

Jay rolls his eyes. "It's my first time." 

"Mine too, but I know what I'm going into." 

He's met the entire Wilson family-- respectively, on their own. Dick briefly knew Grant as Ravager, Rose as a mentee, Addie as an ally, Joey as a current Titans member, and Slade as the most obvious.

"Any pointers?" 

"Sure," Dick shrugs. "Addie's gonna answer the door. She's fairly to-the-point. No bullshit. Slade is a rough topic of conversation. Keep it light, or talk about training. She loves it."

The door opens seemingly on cue, and the boys behold their hostess. She's dressed in a pretty white shirt, dark pants, and a red cardigan. Adeline Kane is stunning, though Dick's always thought that. There's a quick hug exchanged between theM. 

"For you," Jay extends the wine, "from both of us." 

"Addie, this is--" 

"Jason Todd. I'm aware. Adeline Kane." 

"It's nice to meet you, ma'am. Lovely place." 

"Thanks. Rose is inside setting the table. Welcome in." 

That's one Wilson down. 

After passing Addie, Wintergreen comes into view. Jason leans into Dick's side. "He doesn't look like a Wilson." 

"He's not," Dick says, slipping his hands into his pockets. No sign of Rose or Slade yet. "But he's pretty much an honorary member. He's Slade and Addie's mutual, only friend. And he's the most human of anyone here. Take a breather. Hey, Bill." 

The older man shakes both of their hands. "Hey, Dick. You must be Jason." 

"I am." For the first time since his arrival, Jay feels the slightest sense of ease. His shoulders aren't so tight, nor his back so straight. "It's nice to finally put a face to the name. Rose talks about you often." 

"Does she?" He smiles. "I'm flattered. She talks about you similarly." 

"Only good things, I hope--" 

A voice enters their heads. 

_'Oh, only the worst.'_

Dick's lips curve a mischievous smile. "And now we have Mr. Joey Wilson. AKA, Jericho: a very valuable member of the Titans. And resident smartass." 

Joey snickers, embracing Grayson before he has anything else to say. 

_'Hey. Jason, right?'_

Todd is no exception to the hug rule. "It is. Nice to meet you." 

_'Likewise. Rose tells me you're a master at COD.'_

"She's right."

_'I just set up my PS4 in the living room. After dinner, you're on. If I win, you have to leave Rose alone forever."_

"Oh hell yeah-- wait what?" 

"He's kidding. Save some room for me." Dick chuckles and finally leads Jay back to the kitchen where father and daughter finish plating the delicious-smelling meal. "And of course you know Slade." He welcomes himself into the mercenary's arms. Slade's warm as it is, but the added sweater turns him into a furnace-- a very welcome shelter from the bitter cold. 

He presses a kiss into Dick's hair, handing him a cup of eggnog. "Hey, kid." 

"Sir." Jay glances up from under white bangs, nearly uncharacteristically bashful. Sure, he's Grayson's boyfriend now, but he's still his girlfriend's father. 

Before things can get too awkward, Rose appears like a beautiful sight for the vigilante. He might be rough at this whole family thing, but Rose makes him feel more at home than any home or house he's been in. The same can be said for how the older mercenary in the room feels about Dick Grayson. It's almost funny how two of the Waynes ended up with two of the Wilsons. 

Dick ponders this thought while they transfer dinner from the kitchen to the table. Maybe Tim and Joey could be something. They both have that middle-kid syndrome, right? Bruce and Addie might pair well. Both of them so quiet and serious, but they feel deeper than most. The thought of setting them up on a blind date rouses a soft laugh from Nightwing. 

"What's got you tickled?" Slade asks. 

"Nothing, nothing. Just thought of something interesting." 

"Oh?"

"Well, like how our families are nearly perfectly symmetrical; two wild families operating on various sides of the law, falling in love-- it's enough to make a man almost believe in fate." 

"I don't--" 

"I know," Dick says. "I said almost. The kids look happy, huh?" 

His gaze follows Grayson's nod to the younger group at his side. Jason and Rose playfully banter. Joey pipes in too, judging by the expressions and the laughter shared by the three of them. His ex-wife looks as stunning as she did on their wedding day; happiness suits her. Wintergreen, too. This is something all of them have wanted for so long. 

Slade's only regret is that it took this long to get here. 

"Yeah," he muses. "Imagine that." 

After dinner, the family gathers in the living room for present exchanges and the inevitable showdown between Jericho, Jason, Rose, and Dick at COD. To no one's surprise, Rose comes out as the champion. 

_'We can't all have superhuman reflexes,'_ Joey pouts. 

And as the night comes to a close, Dick and Jason find themselves back in Addie's kitchen washing dishes after a dream-like dinner with the Wilsons. 

"Well?" 

"They were better than I thought," Todd confesses. "A lot calmer, too. Rose didn't describe them like this at all." 

That pulls a frown on the other's lips. "She probably described them more accurately than what you saw tonight. Addie's a control freak, Slade is-- well Slade, you know how Rose is, Joey's reckless, and Wintergreen is loyal to a fault." 

"Oh." 

"I was telling Slade earlier that his family reminds me a lot of ours." 

"Dunno if that's a good thing or a bad thing." 

Grayson opens his mouth to answer, but peers into the living room where Slade and Rose drape a blanket over a sleeping Jericho. "Good. It's good. They're a mess, sure. So are we. And like us, their loyalty runs deep. 

Jason hums at the thought. "That much is clear." 

"Soak in these moments while you can," Dick says. "It's not always pretty, but what the Wilsons have? It's real." 


End file.
